Shifting Ground
by Zubeneschamali
Summary: COMPLETE. Charlie and Don end up on opposite sides of the case when a CalSci student is accused of eco-terrorism in conjunction with a Southern California landslide.
1. Prologue

Title: Shifting Ground

Author: Zubeneschamali

Rating: T (PG) (language, violence)

Summary: Charlie and Don end up on opposite sides of the case when a CalSci student is accused of eco-terrorism in conjunction with a Southern California landslide.

Author's note: I am not a geologist or a mathematician, nor do I play one on TV. That being said, I've tried to make the science as realistic as possible. Place names are made up, but they do approximate actual locations. The prologue is, as they say, inspired by actual events, based on The Control of Nature by John McPhee.

Thanks to Winter, Vikki, and Lee Ann for their excellent beta reading.

Disclaimer: If you recognize the characters, they aren't mine, but the property of the nice people at CBS. I'm just using them for my (and hopefully, your) entertainment.

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Landslides in the United States:

$2 billion in damage per year

25-50 deaths per year

Occur in all 50 states

Maximum velocity: 100 miles per hour

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Prologue

Sunday, March 6, 2005

It hadn't been forty days and forty nights, but it was close enough. Near-record rainfall throughout the winter had saturated the ground, turning the concrete ditches that crisscrossed the Los Angeles area into wildly rushing streams that threatened to sweep away anyone who got too close. People who lived on the sides of the mountains looked up at them nervously, understanding that their anxiety was payback for the gorgeous views and elevated position they enjoyed the rest of the year. County officials checked the integrity of debris dams and the level of gauges in the rivers, and suggested that now might be a good time to visit relatives in flatter or drier places. Some people left; most stayed.

If there had been anyone on the south face of Mount Cresta, overlooking the Cresecenta Valley and the eastward sprawl of Greater Los Angeles, just before 10 P.M. on the night of March 6, they might have noticed something strange about the ground beneath their feet. It was no longer solid ground. It wasn't a few inches of mud from the rain that was coming down in torrents. It was something deeper. The days of rain had accumulated below the surface, loosening the particles of dirt enough that they could no longer hold together. With a loud roar that could barely be heard over the pouring rain, 300,000 cubic yards of mud and rock gave way to gravity and flowed down the mountainside.

At a rate of 35 miles per hour, the landslide covered the 3,000 feet from the top to the bottom of Mount Cresta in only 60 seconds. If there had been a football stadium at the base of the mountain, it would have been filled about a third of the way. As it was, those 300,000 cubic yards of material first encountered the small subdivision of Crescenta Court. Enveloped by a warm ambience amidst a secluded setting, Crescenta Court was a beautiful community highlighted by a mountainous backdrop. At least, that's how the realtors put it. It certainly was secluded, up a narrow valley just outside the town of San Morento. The mountain, however, was no longer a backdrop.

Fortunately, although all ten units had been sold, only one residence was occupied. Unfortunately, the three occupants were home. Even if they had heard the landslide coming at them, sixty seconds wasn't enough time to get out of the way. Their house, and they, became part of the debris flow that slammed into the next street down, knocking over a house that had been stuccoed only two days earlier. The mud filled up four more houses and covered six backyards before losing its velocity and settling down to a quiet ooze, with the occasional rock rolling down as the flow progressed another quarter mile towards the main road.

By morning, the aftermath of the natural disaster would be apparent. But as is often the case in California, there would be questions over how "natural" the disaster was. Landslides could be inadvertently caused or worsened by human activity. But they could also occur after more deliberate actions. Once the warm Los Angeles sun finally came out and started drying up the land, investigators would get to work assigning cause -- and blame.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer in Part 1.

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Chapter 1

Monday, March 14, 2005

Charlie leaned back in his chair, staring out his office window. It looked like another beautiful day in sunny California. The week of rain had drawn to a close, and the gaggle of prospective students that he could see marching down the walkway behind the tour guide were getting a taste of what early March in Los Angeles could be: gorgeous. He wondered how many of them were from colder climates and would decide to come here based on the fact that they were wearing shorts right now instead of scarves and gloves.

He turned back to his desk and picked up his red pen again. It was becoming apparent as he worked his way through the pile of calculus homework that a lot of his students weren't getting it. Too many. Maybe he needed to present the material differently somehow…

A faint sound disturbed his mental riff on strategies for teaching the chain rule. When the sound came again, he blinked and focused on the door. Someone was knocking. "Come in!"

Larry Fleinhardt pushed the door open. "Am I disturbing you, Charles?"

"No, no, you're fine." Larry understood that sometimes trying to talk to him when he was wrapped up in something was not only futile, but could break a fragile chain of thought that would take hours to reconstruct. He would leave immediately, no questions asked, no offense taken. It was one of the things he appreciated most about his friend and mentor. "Have a seat."

The physicist lowered himself onto the small couch in one corner of the office and began without preamble. "Charles, I need your help."

"Sure. I'm sorry I haven't had time to look over that paper you sent me, but -- "

Larry was waving his hands in the air. "No, it's not that. It's something completely different. You've shown a proclivity for aiding your brother on his cases, and I was hoping you would be able to offer the same assistance to me."

Charlie stared at his friend. "What, are you consulting for the FBI now, too?"

The physicist shook his head impatiently. "No, it's been in the papers. The landslide in San Morento last week."

"Yeah, the one they think 'eco-terrorists' had something to do with. The Earth Action Front. Ever since those new houses were burned down in Fontana last summer, the media seems to jump to the eco-terrorist conclusion every time a natural disaster happens."

"Well, I not only join you in your disdain of the usage of that term, but I have a personal problem with its particular application." When Charlie raised his eyebrows in query, he went on, "It's being applied to one of my students."

"They think one of your students caused that landslide? Who?"

"Brett Rangadar. He's -- " Larry fluttered his hands. "He's been in trouble with the law before. Some minor vandalism in high school, and he's been known to associate with members of the EAF. He's probably on some damn government watch list somewhere, no offense to your brother."

"I haven't really been following the story, Larry. Why do they think it wasn't a natural occurrence? There've been plenty of small slides in the past couple of weeks with all the rain."

"Well, someone called the L.A. Times and took responsibility for this Earth Action Front. Their 'media response' person says they had no foreknowledge of the event, but the organization is a loose group of individual cells spread around the world, and it's probable that one or a group of people acted on their own."

Charlie's brow furrowed. "But how do you actually start a landslide? The fires were one thing, but how do you get that much material moving down a hill?"

Larry shook a finger at him. "Ay, there's the rub. That's what they haven't figured out, and it's driving them crazy. So they keep interrogating poor Brett because they think he's going to crack."

"They've questioned him?"

"Twice. And searched his house. They found a pair of boots with mud that matches the material from the slide, but Brett goes hiking quite frequently, and the same soil is characteristic of multiple locations in the San Gabriel range. They even came to talk to me about his thesis project, to verify that the equipment in his storage shed is part of his dissertation work."

"What sort of equipment?"

"Some PVC pipe, some pumps, some smaller plastic tubing. He's studying fluid mechanics and finds it necessary to build a physical model from time to time to aid in his thought processes. Unfortunately, there was some tubing found at the site that matches what is in Brett's possession."

"And they think he used it to add extra water to the slope and cause it to fail?"

Larry nodded. "Based on some e-mails of his -- yes, they've subpoenaed his e-mail -- they know he's expressed sentiments opposing the construction of new housing in areas like San Marento that are adjacent to designated wilderness. Based on that and the so-called physical evidence, I think they're building a case against him."

"So what do you think I can do?"

Larry steepled his hands and looked at Charlie over his fingertips. "Can you get me any inside knowledge about the case?"

He shook his head. "I haven't been asked to consult on it."

"That's not what I mean. You have, well, connections. A few subtle questions here and there could work wonders."

"You want me to pump Don for information? That's not exactly ethical, Larry."

He waved a hand. "I know, I know. It's just -- he didn't do it, Charles. I know he didn't do it. I know his political views tend towards the extreme end of the spectrum, but I can't see him doing anything worse that keying an SUV in the parking lot. Certainly not something that could lead to someone getting killed."

Charlie flung himself out of his chair and started to pace the room. "Larry, I can't do that. I can't spy on the FBI."

"Charles…"

He put up a hand. "Wait." Something had occurred to him, and he rolled it over in his mind. Larry, obviously recognizing him in thinking mode, stayed blessedly silent. Finally he slowly said, "What if there was another way?"

"Another way to what?"

"To get Brett off the hook. What if we could show he didn't do it? They're still not sure it was caused by human activity, right? It might have been a natural slide, after the storms we've had, and someone's taking the opportunity to make the EAF look bad."

"Well, yes, but you're not a geologist, Charles. What do you know about mass wasting?"

He grinned. "That's what the Internet is for. That, and our colleagues across campus. What do you say to a little interdisciplinary research, Larry?"


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer in part 1. Additional beta thanks to Mary. And thanks to all the reviewers!

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Chapter 2

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

After two days of examining US Geological Survey websites and downloading technical papers and journal articles, Charlie's head was spinning. The mathematics was fairly complicated, and some of the numbers were simply staggering. What occasionally tripped him up was realizing that the dry language of slope failures and liquefaction masked the deaths of hundreds, sometimes thousands of people in a single event. It left him grateful that even though he might not contribute much of practical value to the world with his own research, at least people's lives weren't depending it.

Or at least they hadn't been before he'd started helping his brother. Larry's scorn for messy problems with too many human variables might arise out of a strong sense of order and routine, but for Charlie, it was different. Keeping the variables abstract kept him from realizing that he was literally playing with people's lives. It was something he still hadn't adjusted to: knowing that his consulting deadlines weren't the usual self-imposed restrictions of academia, but were sometimes clocks winding down on people's lives. He wasn't sure whether to be in awe of how Don and his colleagues could compartmentalize their work, or worry that they had become inured to it, and that he would, too, given enough time.

He shook his head and returned to his technical paper on slope stability and the probability of debris flows. Propping his feet on the coffee table, he glanced at his brother, stretched out on the couch with his face buried in the sports section of the L.A. Times. Don's unerring nose for steak had landed him at the Eppes house for dinner, and he seemed in no hurry to leave.

'This is the perfect opportunity,' whispered a nagging voice that sounded suspiciously like Larry. Charlie opened his mouth to ask, then changed his mind. Two paragraphs later, he tried again, but lost his nerve. Finally, he cleared his throat. "So, Don, you're not working on that case in San Marento, are you? The landslide?"

"No, I haven't really had anything to do with it. A couple of the agents I supervise are in charge of it, but they seem to be doing all right." He turned the page of the newspaper, then lowered it and looked at Charlie. "How'd you know that was an active case?"

"Oh, uh, I read it in the paper. Something about suspicious circumstances, the FBI was investigating and all that. I was just curious."

"Uh huh." Don dropped the paper into his lap. "You've never been 'just curious' about one of my cases before, Charlie."

"No, really, that's all it is." Damn, he knew this was a bad idea. Charlie rose from his seat and tucked the report under his arm before grabbing the empty bottles off the coffee table. "You want another beer?"

"Wait, I get it. You heard there's a suspect at CalSci and you're fishing for information."

He shrugged one shoulder and picked at the label on one of the bottles. "Maybe, yeah."

Don sighed. "I can't tell you anything if it's not a case you're consulting on, you know that."

Charlie stayed quiet. Sometimes, if you stretched out the silence enough, Don would feel obligated to fill it in with words. Sure enough, his mouth opened again. "Do you know the guy?"

"Uh, no, I don't." Technically, that was true. He'd only met Brett yesterday, so it wasn't like he actually knew him. Though after talking with him, he agreed with Larry: the guy was innocent. He might have some strongly held views about where it was and wasn't appropriate to tear up the landscape to put in million-dollar homes, but Charlie often found himself in sympathy with those views. It didn't mean he was going to go off and destroy someone's property, and he didn't think it was true of Brett, either. But he needed to know more about San Marento than what was in the papers if he was going to help him out. A long strip of the label started peeling off under his fidgeting fingers.

"Come on, tell me the truth."

The slightly patronizing tone in his brother's voice was enough to make Charlie shoot him a glare. "I told you I didn't know him, okay?"

The corner of Don's mouth turned up. "Charlie, you couldn't lie to save your life. How do you know Rangadar?"

The label came all the way off, and Charlie crushed it in his hand. He'd always hated it when Don made him feel like this, like he was missing some crucial social skill that the rest of the world had. He'd gotten better at shrugging it off, but knowing that he wasn't getting away with his "subtle" questioning was making him irritated. "So what if I can't lie?" he muttered.

"Nothing. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Wrong with what?" Alan had entered the room, and he paused, arms full of laundry.

"Nothing, Dad. Charlie's trying to get some information out of me about a case that might involve someone at CalSci."

"Oh, that eco-terrorism thing, right?"

"It's not proven that that's what it is," Charlie interrupted. "It might have been a natural landslide."

"Based on the geotechnical report for the Crescenta Court development, no, it couldn't have been natural. The slope was geologically stable."

Charlie looked sharply at his brother. "So you are involved with the case."

Don gave a half shrug. "Yeah, I've looked at some of the evidence. I have to keep tabs on what my agents are doing."

"But you told me you didn't have anything to do with it."

"That's not exactly what I said, it was -- "

"Boys, come on." Their father's quiet voice cut through the rising tension in the room. "What's this about?"

"Yeah, that's a good question." Don stared at Charlie. "What is this about?"

Charlie took a deep breath. Sometimes the old resentment came barreling back without any warning, the resentment at being treated like a child by the rest of his family even when he no longer was one. Don telling him he was or wasn't capable of something, like he knew him better than he knew himself. "It's nothing," he said quietly, starting towards the kitchen. "Forget it."

"Charlie, come on." Don's tone softened.

He paused and turned to face him, keeping his tone as light as he could. "You're right. If I'm not on the case, then it's confidential information. Forget I said anything."

He carried the bottles into the kitchen, put them in the recycling bin, and stared out the back window over the lawn. Maybe someday he'd get over these inferiority attacks. Maybe someday when Don rubbed him the wrong way, he wouldn't need to retreat and lick his wounds like this, wounds that his brother probably didn't even know he was inflicting. He sighed. He'd been right when he told Larry this was a futile idea. Now he was going to have to do something else to try and clear Brett Rangadar.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in part 1. Thanks again to my betas and reviewers!

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Chapter 3

Friday, March 18, 2005

As he entered the math building, Don pulled off his sunglasses and folded them into his jacket pocket. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting, even though he knew it was something he had to do. Charlie needed to hear this from him, even though it was bound to be difficult.

He followed the familiar route up the stairs and down the hallway, stepping around a group of undergraduates who were sitting on the worn tile floor near the faculty mailboxes, animatedly discussing the week's problem set. They reminded him of his study groups from UCLA. He'd enjoyed them not only for the higher grades they resulted in, but the pleasure he got from bouncing ideas back and forth with his classmates. He loved the way in which all of them put together managed to solve the problems in what would have taken them hours or days longer had they worked individually. It was one of the best parts about his job: the way that he could sometimes feel his team working like a single unit, each person's role slotting into place and producing a whole greater than the sum of its parts.

The door to Charlie's office was partially open, letting the sound of the tapping of chalk on a blackboard spill out into the hall. Don paused for a moment in the doorway, watching his brother work. Charlie's brow was furrowed, and he was softly muttering to himself. There was none of that group effort here that he had observed down the hallway. He knew his brother collaborated with other mathematicians and scientists from time to time on various projects, but for the most part he worked alone. And it wasn't just the fact that his brain leapt ahead in ways most people would have been hard put to keep up with. It was something about the nature of the work that lent itself better to solitary pursuit. No teamwork, no feeling yourself part of a larger whole. Don shook his head. It was another one of the ways that the two of them were very different.

He knocked on the open door. "Charlie?"

The tapping of the chalk continued for a few seconds. Then Charlie's head turned, while his hand kept writing. "Don! What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you. Do you have a minute?"

"If you'll give me one second -- " he added a few symbols to the board -- "you will have my full -- " he picked up the eraser and wiped out a good third of the board -- "and undivided--" the string of characters he had been working on expanded across the freshly cleaned space and ended with a series of Greek letters that reminded Don of Fraternity Row down the block -- "attention." Charlie examined the results of his work and nodded, apparently satisfied. "Actually, I'm glad you came by. I was about to give you a call."

"Why, what's up?" Don leaned back against the door frame, folding his arms over his chest.

"I've been doing a little reading about that landslide in San Morento, and I think I found a way to show that it was not caused by human activity. Now, I know that I'm not consulting on the case, but I think you'll still find this very interesting. See, here --"

"Charlie, that's actually what I came to talk to you about."

Before he could expound on that statement, Charlie went on in an excited rush. "Good, because I've already been doing some thinking. Now, I don't have the data from the geotechnical reports, but you said you had a copy, and I'd like to use those numbers to check my work here."

"What do you mean, to check your work? What are you doing?"

"It's called extreme value theory. It's a way to examine events that would normally be classified as outliers and thrown out of the analysis, but nevertheless are important, maybe even more important than the rest of the data. Natural disasters and the stock market are two types of systems can be analyzed using EVT more accurately than traditional methods."

Don sighed. He'd learned long ago that it was best not to try and interfere with the runaway train of Charlie's thoughts unless absolutely necessary. It was only in the last year that he'd realized if he did more than interject the occasional "uh-huh" or "yeah" to keep his brother moving along, he might actually learn something. And since Charlie had been helping him out with a few cases, he'd learned quite a bit. So even though he was dreading the moment when he would have to tell his brother that none of this mattered, he played along for the time being. "How does this extreme value theory work?"

"Well, I've only started to look at it," which probably meant he'd only read one book and half a dozen scientific articles in the time it would take most people to read the Sunday paper, "but the basic idea is that real-life events do not follow a normal distribution as closely as you might think." He drew a bell curve on the chalkboard. "This is a normal distribution. Most events fall around the center, with fewer as you go out towards the tails. Think of plotting the height of everyone on campus, or the daily returns on the stock market. While it generally follows this pattern, when you use real-life data, there are more outliers at both ends--" he redrew the curve so it resembled a short bell with a very wide mouth -- "than you would expect."

"So a normal distribution is only an approximation. How is that 'extreme'?"

"Good question." Charlie started adding points to his graph, talking as he went, and Don had to bite back a smile. For someone who'd been painfully shy most of his life, Charlie was the most outgoing person in the world when he was teaching someone. When Don had first suggested Charlie present his results to the other agents on Don's team, the mathematician had looked petrified until Don suggested he think of it as teaching a class. The approach hadn't gone over well with everyone, particularly the agents who wanted to get to the point as quickly as possible and didn't see the value in the details of the methodology. But it had built up Charlie's confidence, and Don was coming to see that that was as important as the tangible results he had produced.

"It's these points out here," the younger man was saying as he circled a few dots at one end of the bell curve, "that we might be interested in. Specifically, in predicting their existence, even if they haven't occurred yet. For example, on January 27, 1986, the night before a scheduled launch of the Space Shuttle, the temperature at Cape Canaveral reached a low of 50 degrees. That was 15 degrees colder than for any previous launch. Even though no data points existed to show the effects of that particular temperature on the materials that composed the shuttle, EVT could have predicted the failure of some of those materials, and the launch could have been postponed."

"Challenger." That was an event burned into Don's memory. He remembered exactly where he was sitting, in the student union coffeeshop trying to flirt with Becky Anderson, when the announcement came over the television of the tragedy high in the skies over the Atlantic. He remembered the shocked look on her face that mirrored his as they were hit with the mind-numbing realization that even though things like this weren't supposed to happen, they just had. "You mean that could have been prevented?"

Charlie shrugged. "Hindsight is 20/20. The point is, even though the temperature had never gotten that cold before, even though there was no data point to compare it to, the inference could have been drawn. Same thing in San Marento. According to the geologic record, there's no sign of a landslide ever happening in that exact location. But extreme value theory tells us that just because a slide has never happened there doesn't mean that it can't, under the right conditions. And with the data from the geotechnical report, I should be able to show that." He crossed the room to his desk and shuffled through a pile of papers. "All I've had to work with is the topographic map for the area, from which I can calculate the slope at a medium scale, and some general data from the USGS about soil saturation throughout the San Gabriels, and the National Weather Service data from the rain gauges in the area. But if I had the exact figures from the report that the developer for Crescenta Court submitted to the city, I could show it more precisely."

"Yeah, Charlie, about that." Don ran a hand through his hair. "That's what I came down here to tell you."

"Is there a problem with getting the reports? I mean, I know I'm not officially consulting, but -- "

"It's not that. It's that it's not necessary. Look, your extreme value theory is interesting, and it might apply in the right situation, but this isn't it."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked in a low tone.

'Here it comes,' Don thought. He reached back and shut the door behind him. "I came to tell you that we made an arrest. Brett Rangadar is in custody for willful destruction of property and three counts of manslaughter. They found more evidence at his apartment linking him to the site. I'm sorry, but I can't say any more than that."

Charlie dropped the papers on his desk, not noticing as they slid off the pile and right onto the floor. "You arrested him? But he didn't do anything."

"Look, I know you don't want to think that someone you know is capable of something like this, but the evidence points very clearly to him. He's made incriminating statements in his e-mail, he's got material that matches stuff found on the site…" Don trailed off as his brother took a step towards him, his eyes flashing. "Charlie?"

"Don, he didn't do it. It was a natural disaster." He pointed at the scrawl on the blackboard. "It's something that could have been predicted, or at least anticipated. Have you talked to the developer, or the geologist who did the report?"

"No, not yet, but we will be following up with them later. We've been focusing on the most likely avenue in the case."

"The most obvious, you mean. The neat, tidy, eco-terrorist avenue." He bent down and picked up the maps that had fallen to the floor, slapping them down onto the desk and turning his back.

"Charlie, what has gotten into you? I know you wanted to help this guy out because he's one of Larry's students, but you're going to have to face the facts here."

"I am facing the facts." He whirled around. "They're right there on the board, Don. The facts say it was a natural event. Your railroading of a suspect is not based on the facts."

"Okay, now you're being ridiculous. There's -- there's no railroading going on, there's only following the trail of evidence, which points in one direction. What you've shown me is interesting, and it could be useful on other occasions, just not this one. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

Charlie stared at him for a moment. Don fancied he could actually see the gears turning inside his brother's head, as he considered and rejected various responses. Finally his gaze shifted to the clock on the wall behind Don. "I'm sorry, but I have a class in fifteen minutes. We'll have to finish this discussion later."

The cool tone of voice worried him. "Charlie, I'm sorry it turned out this way, but I thought you'd probably rather hear it in person."

He had already turned back to his desk. "You're probably right, Don. We'll have to talk about it later."

Don tried again. "No hard feelings, right?"

"I said I have to get to class." The tone of voice was one Don recognized. It was the same one he used with agents who were taking up his time with something unimportant when there was actual work to be done. It stung.

"Fine. I'll see you later."

Charlie waved a hand dismissively, and Don turned on his heel. He shut the door behind him with a little more force than was necessary, startling the students who were still huddled on the floor at the other end of the hallway. He made for the back stairwell, suddenly feeling the need to get out of the building as soon as possible.

He couldn't figure out why this case was bothering Charlie so much. Sure, he wanted to help out a colleague, but he was taking it a little too personally. He made a mental note to ask Dad if there was anything he should know about, any minefields he had unknowingly wandered into. He'd managed to put his foot in his mouth more than a few times without knowing it, based on the years that he and Charlie hadn't exactly been close. Maybe that lay behind his brother's stubbornness. Maybe once they tightened the case around Rangadar, Charlie would come around.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer in Part 1.

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Chapter 4

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Two nights later, Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table, absentmindedly picking away at a plate of leftover lasagna while studying a geology book propped up on the fruit bowl. He thought he had a pretty good handle on the mechanics of mudflows, landslides, debris flows, and whatever other permutations there were of mud, dirt, and rocks moving rapidly downhill. He'd learned that the San Marento disaster should be considered a flow rather than a slide because of the amount of water involved, so all the news reports were technically getting it wrong. What the book didn't say, and what he really needed to know, was how easy it was for someone to deliberately cause a mudflow.

The back door swung open, and Alan stepped in, carrying a bag of groceries in each arm and a gallon of milk hanging from one hand. "Charlie, hi. I see you found the lasagna."

"Uh huh." He turned the page and put another forkful in his mouth. He'd been searching the Internet for examples of human-induced landslides, but all he'd come up with was lawsuits over irrigated orchards and over-watered golf courses contributing to the destruction of houses below. But no cases of sabotage like Brett Rangadar was being accused of. Maybe one of books on the pile next to him would have an example he could use. He would hate to have lugged them home for nothing.

"So how was your day?"

"Fine. Just the usual." He put down the fork and picked up his pen, jotting a few notes on the papers next to his plate.

"Same here." There was the sound of the fridge opening, and containers of food being slid around in an effort to find space for the groceries. "Is that your own work, or something for your brother?"

Charlie looked up, but Alan's attention was focused on rearranging the produce in the crisper. "It's, uh, something for Larry, actually."

"That gravitational theory again?"

"No, not that. I'm just looking into something for one of his students." He looked back at the page. There was a complicated diagram showing how to use pipes and pumps to de-water a hillside, removing water so the slope was less likely to become unstable. Nothing about adding water, but he made a note to find out if there had been dewatering equipment in place above Las Casitas.

"Oh." Alan's head emerged from the fridge. "You were working late last night."

Charlie shrugged one shoulder. "I got home after midnight, yeah."

"You missed your brother at dinner."

"I work late a lot, Dad." He shifted in his chair, looking closely at the diagram and wondering if these were the same kinds of pumps found in Brett's garage.

"Oh, I know that. I gave up waiting on you years ago." Alan closed the fridge and crossed the kitchen, taking an orange from the fruit bowl as he sat down next to Charlie.

"So, uh, what did Don have to say?" He took in another mouthful of lasagna, which unfortunately had started to go cold.

"Not much. There's not much that he can tell me about his work, you know, and since there isn't much to his life outside of work, it's usually me doing the talking."

"Mm," Charlie agreed.

"He did tell me some things about this case in San Marento, though. Hard to think someone could do something like that."

"Yeah, it is pretty hard to believe." He took a swallow of milk from the glass next to his plate.

"Don mentioned that you actually don't believe it. Is that what you're working on here?"

He fought the urge to cover his sheets of notes like he had when he was a kid and didn't want anyone to see that he was doing math problems instead of something "normal." "I'm trying to see if it's even possible to cause a landslide, which is something the FBI doesn't seem to have considered before arresting the poor guy."

Alan finished peeling the orange and began to section it. "Don also told me about the little discussion you had in your office the other day. You were pretty upset, he said."

Charlie stabbed at the last remaining bite of lasagna with his fork. "I just think he's being unreasonable. I don't think they've even considered the science behind the disaster, to see if the facts match up with the geology and the fluid mechanics. They're just looking for someone to blame."

"They're law enforcement, Charlie. Their job is to find the responsible parties."

"But no one's responsible in this case. It's a, what do you call it, an act of God. It's all circumstantial evidence, anyway, at least according to the papers."

"There might be more evidence than made it into the papers."

He looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

Alan sighed and sat back in his chair. "Me and my big mouth. Look, your brother would kill me, but…he mentioned that it wasn't just the material at this student's house. The developer behind the Las Casitas project came forward and said that he'd gotten a threatening phone call a couple of weeks ago regarding those houses. Too close to the National Forest or something. The FBI played some tapes for him, like the audio version of a police lineup, and he identified their suspect as the person who made the phone call."

He shrugged. "The developer could be making that up."

"Now, come on, Charlie--"

"No, really, Dad. If it turns out that was a natural landslide, then it will be clear that they shouldn't have built the houses there. Maybe the developer could be shown to be negligent or something, or maybe it would damage his reputation if he has other projects in the area."

"Jim Penneman of PBR Partners? Yes, I would say he has other projects in the area. He owns half the remaining undeveloped land in Orange County, according to the Times."

"You see? He can't afford to have his reputation sullied, so he has to pin the blame on someone else instead." He stuffed the last bite of lasagna in his mouth and washed it down with the last of the milk.

Alan shook his head. "You know what I think is going on here?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on, "I think you're just trying to prove your brother wrong."

"No, I'm not!" Charlie hastily swallowed his food. "Dad, Brett didn't do anything wrong. He's expressed some extreme political views on his website, like supporting the two women who were arrested for the arson in Fontana last fall, and he's donated money to groups like the EAF. But that's all." He shrugged and toyed with his fork. "Besides, he kinds of reminds me of me."

"You've never expressed the desire to go around destroying other people's property, have you?" The older man punctuated his statement by popping a slice of orange in his mouth.

"No, but he's -- he gets pretty focused sometimes, from what Larry tells me. Actually, Larry's the one who thinks he's a lot like me. I think that's why I want to help him so badly." His voice grew softer. "I keep thinking what would happen if I were in his shoes. I'd want somebody who believes in me on my side."

Alan sighed. "Just don't go thinking that he is you, Charlie. He might not be innocent, after all. I don't want you getting too wrapped up in something that might not turn out the way you want it to."

Pushing his plate aside, he turned his attention back to the book. "I'll be fine, Dad. Don't worry about me."

"Don't tell a parent not to worry about their child." Alan rose from his chair and ruffled his son's hair. "At least you got yourself dinner."

Charlie absentmindedly nodded, already lost in the diagrams on the page. He scribbled another note on the papers, not even noticing as his father took away his empty glass and plate.

He still needed a way to get a hold of the geotechnical report, since Don obviously wasn't going to cooperate. "Hey, Dad? When someone has to file an environmental impact report for a development, that's public information, right? Anyone can ask to see it?"

"Sure. The reports are all on file at the city planning office, or sometimes at the library if it's a big enough project." Alan looked up from loading the dishwasher. "I might be headed up towards the Crescenta Valley tomorrow, if you need a ride somewhere."

Charlie glanced over at him. "I thought you didn't want me getting too wrapped up in this."

"I don't. That's why I want to spare you the ten-mile bike ride to San Marento."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "If you're headed that way, Dad, that would be great."

"Sure thing."

Charlie smiled as he returned to his studies. His father did know him pretty well. On the other hand, that assertion that he was only trying to prove Don wrong was just silly. Sometimes Dad could get pretty off base, even with his own sons.


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer and beta thanks in Part 1.

And the plot thickens…

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Chapter 5

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

"I'll have to check with him and get back to you." Don drummed his fingers harder on the desktop. "Yes, Mr. Storper, I understand your position, and I'm sorry for any inconvenience." He clenched his hand into a fist, but kept his tone pleasant. "All right, I'll get back to you later today, okay? Thank you. Goodbye."

He managed to hang the phone up quietly instead of slamming it down like he wanted to. Instead, he sprang up from his chair and started pacing around the room. "Goddammit, I'm going to kill him!"

Terry looked up from the table where she and David were poring over a pile of Brett Rangadar's e-mail. "Storper giving you a hard time?"

"No, not Storper," he growled. He'd reached the whiteboard at the front of the plexiglassed-in conference room, and he fought the childish urge to snatch up an eraser and obliterate the few lines of equations still remaining from the counterfeiting case a few weeks ago. Instead he turned on his heel and stalked back towards the desk.

"Don, what is it?" His partner's voice was low and concerned.

He turned to face them, his eyes flickering towards David before settling on Terry. "I can't really say."

There was a pause. Then David straightened up from where he had been bending over the e-mails and said, "Look, I was just going to go get a cup of coffee."

Don closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, it's okay." He waved a hand at the taller man. "I shouldn't bring either of you in on this, but I'm going to need your help. I'm sorry."

"About what?" Terry was regarding him seriously, arms folded across her chest.

He sighed. Then he crossed over to the table, standing close to the two of them and speaking in a low but irritated tone. "This does not leave the room, okay?" Terry and David nodded. "That was Scott Storper, the geologist who consulted on the Crescenta Court project."

"You were setting up an interview with him and the developer, right?" David's voice quietly rumbled.

"Yes, but that's not why he called." Don gave an exasperated sigh. "He was checking to verify that the consultant who called him this morning was really working for the FBI and wasn't a reporter or someone else trying to pry information out of him."

David and Terry both had blank expressions on their faces. "We aren't using any outside consultants on this one," Terry started. Then her eyes grew wide. "He didn't."

Don grimly nodded.

"What?" David asked.

"My --" he briefly pressed his lips together to keep anything from spilling out that he'd regret later-- "brother called Storper with some questions about the geotechnical report. Some fairly detailed questions, about the data he used to make his calculations, and the parameters of an infinite slope model or something. When Storper started asking why he wanted to know all these things, Charlie said he was consulting with us on the case."

"He did that?" David exclaimed.

"I didn't think he had it in him," Terry murmured with a touch of admiration in her voice. When Don glared at her, she looked down. "Sorry. It's just that I don't associate that kind of deviousness with Charlie."

"Well, obviously he wasn't too good at bluffing, or Storper wouldn't have needed to call to verify his story." Don ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, I am going to get in so much trouble."

"Why?" David asked. "Charlie's the one being unethical here."

Don shook his head. "This is the part that really can't leave the room." When the two of them solemnly nodded, he went on more quietly, "I need to figure out a reason to bring Charlie in on this. Storper insists that Charlie be at this interview, so he can talk directly with our 'scientific consultant.'" He made air quotes and then dropped his hands. "I am going to kill him."

Terry laid a calming hand on his arm. "We'll think of something, Don. Though it's not like there's much need for a mathematician on this case at the moment."

"Tell Charlie that." He shook his head. "He just won't let it go. I mean, I knew he was pretty wound up about helping Larry's student, but I've never seen him do something like this. If the wrong people find out about it, he won't be doing any more consulting for us."

"Then we're going to make sure that doesn't happen." With a quick look at David, who nodded in agreement, she went on, "Look, Don, we obviously don't know Charlie as well as you do, but we know he gets really…intense. But he's also got a strong code of ethics, and if he went against it like this, there must be a good reason."

"Yeah, I'm trying to tell myself that." He absently tapped his fist against the table. "Did he not think I would find out about this?"

"It probably didn't even enter his mind," David replied. "I mean, I've only seen him work a few times, but like Terry said, he gets pretty intense. There's been entire conversations going on in the room that he hasn't heard a word of. He probably was focused so much on what he was doing, he didn't think of the consequences." He shrugged. "At least, that's how I see it."

"I suppose you're right. But you're right too, Terry: I didn't think he had it in him."

"He's just lucky he's got you to do damage control for him."

"Damn straight he is." He pounded the table one more time and straightened up. "Is there anything in those e-mails?"

Terry shrugged. "A lot of radical environmentalist views, including a denunciation of the Crescenta Court development. But nothing like, 'Tomorrow is when we start the landslide,' if that's what you're asking."

"All right, keep looking. Penneman was sure that Rangadar's voice was that of the guy who called him, so there's got to be something here. We have his phone records, right?"

"I checked those out earlier today," David said, gesturing towards a neatly stacked pile at the far edge of the table. "There's a few numbers we haven't managed to trace yet."

"Well, keep on it. Right now that's our best lead. That and the e-mails. I don't suppose there's anything mathematical in there that would be an excuse for bringing Charlie in?"

David shook his head. "Why do you need an excuse? Just say you wanted him to verify the scientific aspects of the case."

"Yeah, but he's not a geologist. Even if he has been reading nonstop about it for the past week, Storper's gonna see right through him."

"Nor is he an epidemiologist or a structural engineer, but he helped us solve those cases," Terry reminded him. "He provides a unique perspective. That's all you need."

"Yeah, he's unique, all right. He's uniquely dead, once I get a hold of him."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Don't do anything too drastic, okay?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't tell me you've fallen for it, too."

"Fallen for what?"

"Oh, ever since we were kids, he figured out he could use that sad little puppy-dog look of his to get him out of trouble. He gets on people's good sides so much that even when he does something wrong, he's automatically forgiven." Don shook his head. "Good thing I'm immune to it."

The corner of Terry's mouth turned up. "And you've never tried to get yourself out of trouble by looking cute."

"Me? No, I don't play games like that."

"Really? Because I remember you looking at me with that 'sad little puppy-dog look' right after you -- " She looked sideways at David, who was watching the two of them like the umpire at a tennis match. "Never mind."

"You know, I really could use that coffee." David's voice was overly cheerful. "Can I get either of you anything?"

"No, I've got to get over to CalSci and chew out a certain mathematician," Don sighed. "Wish me luck, will you?"

He started for the door and was stopped by Terry's voice. "Don, just remember, this must really be important to him."

"Yeah, well, it's pretty important to me, too," he called over his shoulder as he walked out. Damn it, he couldn't believe Charlie would do something like this. He just hoped neither of them would regret it later.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer and beta thanks in Chapter 1.

Thank you to all the reviewers so far. We're at the halfway point, and the action is coming soon…

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Chapter 6

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Charlie raced down the concrete steps towards the black SUV parked on the side of the street. He swung the door open and climbed in, pulling his backpack after him. "Hey, Don."

"About time," his brother muttered as he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

"Sorry, I had to stay after class to answer a few questions about the midterm." There was dead silence. "You're still mad at me, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm still mad at you. That was a pretty dirty trick you pulled. I still can't believe you lied to Storper like that. What's gotten into you?"

"I never lied to him, Don. I told him I sometimes consulted for the FBI, but at no point did I say I was consulting specifically on this case. I was very careful about that."

"That's a technicality. And besides, now you are consulting on the case, thanks to you riling him up."

Charlie knew he was sounding petulant, but he didn't care. "If he didn't do anything wrong, he shouldn't have anything to be riled up about."

"He's a well-established geological consultant who works on hundreds of projects across the state. If it appears that he's being questioned by the FBI because of misconduct on his part, yes, that's going to piss him off." Don accelerated through a yellow light. "You should have just asked me. I could have passed on your questions."

"No offense, but you wouldn't have understood my questions. Or the answers."

"I guess you're probably right about that." They traveled in silence for a block or two. Then Don asked, "What did you want with the guy anyway?"

He shrugged. "Just some technical questions. I hadn't read a report of that type before, and I wanted to make sure I was interpreting things correctly."

"And were you?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Charlie paused for a moment. "There's a few things that still don't make sense, though. I've made a list of what I have to ask him today."

"Oh no, you don't."

"What do you mean?" He paused in rifling through his backpack to make sure the list of questions was still there.

"Just that. You're not coming to this interview to interrogate these two men. You're here because for whatever reason, Storper demanded your presence. I wish he hadn't, but we need his help to wrap up a few loose ends."

"A few loose ends? You mean gaping holes?"

Don drove smoothly through another amber light and accelerated as they hit the Pasadena Freeway. "No, I mean a few loose ends. We found mud on Rangadar's car that matches the material at the San Marento slide with 85 probability. All we need are a few more details from the developer, and I think we have the case wrapped up."

Charlie dropped his head back against the seat. "I don't believe this. You're not even listening to me."

"It's not that, it's just that the facts we have don't fit your theory. If it was a natural landslide, why did the EAF claim responsibility? Why did Brett Rangadar call Penneman and threaten the project?"

"Who says he did?" Charlie muttered darkly. "Penneman, that's who."

"All right, that's enough. Jim Penneman is a big-time developer, not a crook. Your conspiracy theory is getting a bit out of hand." He paused to take a particularly sharp curve in the road. "Just don't say anything at the interview, okay? Tell them your name and who you are and that's it. I don't want you messing things up."

Charlie clamped his mouth shut. He was thirty years old, not thirteen, but the tone in his brother's voice took him back to his awkward childhood years when Don would do everything short of locking him in his room to make sure he didn't "mess things up." "Fine."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Don glance over at him. "Aw, Charlie, I didn't mean it like that."

He continued to stare out the windshield. "How long do you think this will take?"

They were crossing the Los Angeles River, the one their dad always referred to as the Los Angeles Ditch. Instead of the usual trickle running through the massive concrete channel, there was actually a good amount of water flowing downstream. The legacy of the winter's rain, he supposed.

"No more than half an hour. I'll drive you back to campus, if you need to get back."

"No, it's all right, I can take the train. I'm sure you'll have plenty of work to do, wrapping up your loose ends."

That shut him up, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

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The elevator doors opened, and Don stepped out. As Charlie followed him, he bent to whisper in his ear, "Not one word, okay?" Charlie's glare was enough of a reply.

After Don grabbed a few files off his desk, they walked down the hall to the conference room. Two men were waiting inside, both of whom rose as they entered the room.

"Agent Eppes?" said the taller, blond man. "I'm Jim Penneman." A pair of expensive-looking gold cufflinks caught the light as he extended his hand.

"Pleased to meet you. This is Dr. Charles Eppes, Professor of Applied Mathematics at CalSci."

"I've been looking forward to talking with you." The dark-haired man reached over and shook Charlie's hand. "Scott Storper. I'll be glad to answer any additional questions you might have."

"Well, we don't want to take up too much of your time," Don started before Charlie could reply. "We just have to clarify some points of information. Shall we?" He gestured towards the chairs.

They started with a few basic questions about the Crescenta Court development. Don wasn't surprised to learn that each of the ten houses was worth over a million dollars, or at least they had been before four of them were buried under the mudslide. Nor was he surprised to hear that this was only one of ten projects that Penneman currently had underway in greater Los Angeles, and the cheapest one, at that. And with the geography of Los Angeles being what it was, there weren't too many places left to build houses that weren't either on steep slopes or near some kind of protected open space.

"So you see my concern, Agent Eppes." Penneman leaned forward, folding his manicured hands in front of him on the table. "If this man is not promptly prosecuted for his crime, it gives other terrorists like him the idea that such behavior is acceptable. That potentially puts hundreds of other people at risk."

"And millions of dollars."

Don shot Charlie a sharp look, while Penneman favored him with a tight smile. "Actually, Dr. Eppes, it's the tragic loss of life here that concerns me. After a few minor incidents of vandalism last fall while we were preparing the site, I decided it would be a wise decision to take out some insurance against acts of terror. As it turns out, that was the right thing to do. Unfortunately, insurance won't bring back the Stuart family."

Don's gaze switched from his brother back to the well-coiffed blond man. "Terrorism insurance? I thought that was only valid in the case of foreign organizations acting on U.S. soil."

"And this Earth Action Front is, indeed, an international terrorist organization. They've carried out actions all over the world. Just because this one was perpetrated by an American doesn't exempt it."

Charlie opened his mouth, but the glare that Don sent his way silenced him. "Mr. Storper, were you aware of these threats as well?"

"Yeah, I was the one who discovered them." The ruddy-cheeked man leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against the armrest. "Spray paint on the construction equipment, some work materials missing, things like that."

"Did you ever receive a phone call like Mr. Penneman did?"

"No, I can't say that I did. I'd probably be pretty far down the hit list, you know. I'm just one of the consultants who contributed to the environmental impact statement. If someone was planning to sabotage the project by making a landslide happen, they probably weren't gonna alert any geologists."

Charlie plunged in before Don could cut him off. "How exactly do you think the mudflow was caused? Because after looking at the data that were in your report, I'm having a hard time understanding how you know it wasn't a natural event."

"Hey, if we had had any idea Mount Cresta would have experienced the type of event that it did, we wouldn't have gone ahead with the project. The geotechnical report was not simply a formality, it was done to ensure the site was safe."

"Did you consider extreme value theory in your analysis?"

Storper raised his eyebrows. "I don't believe I'm familiar with that particular method."

Before Charlie could get started, Don held up his hand. "Gentlemen, I suggest that if you're interested in discussing the technical details, you can do that at a later date."

"Actually, I'm interested in hearing what Dr. Eppes has to say." Penneman's calm voice cut through the room. "If you don't mind."

Don sat back in his chair. "Please, go ahead."

Charlie gave the two men the quick-and-dirty explanation he had given to Don a few days previously. He finished by saying, "So you see, even if Mount Cresta had never experienced a slide, that doesn't mean it couldn't. And considering we've had the second-highest rainfall on record this year, that certainly qualifies as an extreme event."

Don watched carefully as the other two men exchanged a look. Usually, it was the job of one partner to ask the questions while the other was focused on reading reactions, and usually it was Terry doing the reading. But she'd been called out to do some profiling in San Diego, leaving Don on his own. So Don was caught on a tightrope between being annoyed at Charlie taking control of the conversation when he wasn't supposed to be saying anything, and the opportunity to gather some nonverbal information.

"The thing is," Storper started after receiving an infinitesimal nod from the blond man, "we did model the hillslope with above-record level rain. So even this winter shouldn't have been a problem." He shifted in his chair. "The angle of repose of the mountain wasn't big enough, even with all the rain we've had, to result in a mass wasting event. That means it must have been done deliberately."

"What's the angle of repose?" Don asked.

"It's basically the angle of the hillside," Charlie answered. "Think of a pile of sand; if you add grains to the top, at some point it will become too steep, and additional grains will simply fall down the side. If you make the sand wet, you can make the pile steeper, or increase its angle of repose. Too much water, though, and the pile becomes unstable."

"You know a lot about geology for a mathematician." Storper's tone was a little sharper than it had been before.

"I'm just doing my job." Don thought there was a trace of guilt in Charlie's eyes as they flickered to his.

"Agent Eppes," Penneman broke in, "I thought it had already been established that you have a suspect in custody, and that this was an act of terrorism rather than an act of God. I'm finding the tenor of this interview to be a little different than what I had expected."

Don's eyes narrowed at the slight warning in his tone of voice. "We're just covering all of our bases, Mr. Penneman. I am interested in Mr. Storper's explanation of how he thinks our suspect managed to induce a landslide."

Storper shifted in his chair again. "Well, we found some pumps and tubing at the site. I guess he found a way to pump more water into the hillside, to the point where it basically liquefied and flowed downhill."

"Did you have dewatering equipment in place?" Charlie asked.

"Like I just explained to you, we didn't need dewatering equipment because the hillside wasn't unstable. They weren't our pipes, if that's what you're asking."

Charlie leaned forward slightly in his seat as he fired questions at the geologist.

"Then how did he get the water up there? That's an awful lot of water to pump into the ground, so he probably didn't carry it up. Are the utilities on?"

Penneman was raising a hand to object when Don broke in, keeping his voice as casual as he could. "Dr. Eppes, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Don held the door open as they stepped out into the hallway. As soon as he closed the door, he whirled on Charlie. "What do you think you're doing?"

His brother took a step back. "I'm trying to help with your investigation. I'm asking some questions that I don't think have been asked yet, and the answers could be key to the case."

Don shook his head. "No, you're not. You're being a pain in the ass. You read Storper's report, didn't you? You know he's right. I don't know what you're trying to prove in there, but I've just about had enough."

Charlie's eyes were flashing, but he was careful to keep his voice low to match Don's. "Fine. I'll go back in there, sit like a lump, and let you get through your interview without offending anyone. On one condition."

Don frowned. "What?"

"I want Storper's data. Everything that went into making that report. I want to model how much water it would have taken to make the slide start. That would be a legitimate use of my time, wouldn't you say?"

He considered that for a moment. "Isn't that all in the report?"

"Just a summary. I want the measurements he took on site, before and after construction started, and whatever maps he used to take those measurements."

"You realize that's probably going to be a couple of boxes' worth of paper? And a whole lot of photocopying on Storper's part?"

Charlie shrugged. "Have him bill me."

Don put his hand across his eyes, pressing at his temples where a headache was starting to form. On the one hand, this would get Charlie off his back, and maybe make him realize that he was pursuing a dead end, once he had all of the numbers to work with himself. On the other hand, he ran the risk of antagonizing Penneman by requesting more information.

Screw it. He wasn't here to placate people, he was here to find answers. And if there was a chance that Charlie was right, it would mean a major redirection in the case. "All right. We'll ask."

"Good." Charlie gave a firm nod. "Thanks, Don."

"Just remember to keep your end of the bargain," he said, arching an eyebrow.

"I'll try." Before Don could comment, his brother opened the door and went back in.

Don followed him into the conference room and was annoyed to hear Charlie already asking, "How unstable is the slide, Mr. Storper? Do you think it might go off again?"

"I honestly don't know. It's common for mudflows to continue to move and settle for several days afterward, but in a situation like this, without the additional water being pumped in, it's hard to say. Are you thinking about making a trip up to San Marento?"

Charlie shrugged one shoulder. "It would make it easier to visualize the setting. Do you think it's too dangerous?"

Storper's gaze flickered towards the blond man for a moment. Later, Don would wonder why it didn't register with him how odd it was that the geologist was looking to the developer for advice. In truth, he was too focused on his annoyance at Charlie for coming within a hair's-breadth of violating the agreement they had reached out in the hall to observe subtle body language.

So when Storper said, with only a trace of hesitation, "I'm sure it's fine, Dr. Eppes. In fact, I've been up there twice myself," Don just lifted a hand to end that part of the conversation. As he looked over his list of questions to resume the interview, he missed the significant look that Penneman gave to Storper. He also missed the way Charlie's eyes tracked back and forth between the two men, taking in their interactions just as thoroughly as Terry would have.

By the time he raised his eyes from the page, all three men were looking expectantly at him, and the opportunity that he didn't even know he'd had was gone.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer in Part 1.

Hang on to your seats…

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Chapter 7

Friday, March 25, 2005

The sound of chalk scratching on a blackboard gave way to the shuffling of papers. Charlie paged through the spiral-bound report in his hand and paused at a table of numbers. After adding a few of them to the equation on the board, he dropped the report on his desk and rifled through the pile of papers there. Finding the one he wanted, he studied it carefully.

The piles of paper had come from Storper's office that afternoon. He'd been surprised at the consultant's easy acquiescence to handing over the geologic data. After six hours of looking through it, he understood why. There was nothing in the pages of numbers to indicate any misstep at Crescenta Court. Sure, extreme value theory might show that a landslide could have been predicted, but the application of EVT wasn't required when writing an environmental impact report. Even if the slide was natural, it wasn't the geologist's fault for not seeing it coming. And from the numbers he saw here, the slope wasn't steep enough for the slide to be natural, even with the unusual amount of rain they'd had.

He sighed and tossed the chalk onto the rail of the chalkboard. Maybe Don was right. Maybe he wanted to believe in Larry's student so badly that he was chasing ghosts here rather than hard scientific facts. He took a swig from the water bottle on his desk and dropped into a chair, still holding that one sheet of paper. It was a map of Mt. Cresta, showing the elevation at selected points. It was the map Storper had obviously used to calculate the slope, because the numbers were the same as in the equations on the board.

Or at least, they were supposed to be. Charlie squinted at the map, not sure he was reading the tiny numbers correctly. He looked back and forth from the map to the board, then leapt to his feet and started digging through a different pile on his desk. He came out with the older topographic map that he had been using last week, before Don dropped the bombshell of Brett's arrest. Putting the two maps side by side, he realized he was right. "But why would he…" he muttered, then snapped his fingers.

Flipping through the report, he found the detailed map of the site. Yes, it matched with the newer map, but not the older one. "It could just be a coincidence, or a mistake. How would I know--" Then his gaze fell on the corner of the piece of paper on which the newer map was printed. There was a date and time in the corner indicating when the page had come out of the printer. If he remembered correctly, that was only a few days after…he paged back through the report. When he found what he was looking for, he rocked back on his heels. Wow. Talk about a smoking gun.

He erased part of his work on the board and plugged in the new numbers he had obtained. When he worked through the results, he was grimly satisfied to see that he was right. He took a moment to think things over, to make sure he was reasoning correctly, and that there wasn't an obvious, innocent explanation that he was missing. No, his equation fit the data. There were some missing values, of course, but those could be obtained later on. Maybe in another interview with the guilty parties. For now, he had to tell Don what he had learned. "It's not a conspiracy theory if you have proof," he murmured as he reached for the phone.

He was halfway through dialing Don's cell before he glanced over at the corner of his computer screen. 11:30 P.M. That wasn't too late, was it? He paused, one finger hovering over the 5 key. No, this was important. Don might have chewed him out earlier, but he knew he'd listen to what he had to say, no matter how late it was. He dialed the last four digits and paced towards the window while the call connected.

Three rings, then four. Then, "Hi, this is Don Eppes. I'm sorry I'm not able to take your call, but please leave a message." Charlie winced as the loud beep echoed in his ear. "Uh, hi, Don," he said, staring out over the empty campus as he spoke. "I hope I'm not waking you up, but I thought you should know this. I, uh, I was looking over the geotechnical reports from Crescenta Court. I know what you told me on Wednesday, and before you go off on me again, I think I found something.

"It has to do with the topographic maps that Scott Storper used. The numbers don't match. The numbers on the map that I'm holding, the map that is in the geotechnical report, are not accurate. They don't match the US Geological Survey benchmarks on Mt. Cresta. The report makes the slope look less steep than it is and makes the equations work out okay so the probability of a landslide is under the required limit.

"But that's not all. By making the slope look less steep, they were able to squeeze in three extra houses. There's a typo in the report: in one place it says seven, but everywhere else it says ten. Kind of like when you make a new copy of a previous document but forget to change all the text. The thing is, those three houses were located right at the base of the hill. If you use the numbers from the report, they're fine. But if you use the real numbers from the more accurate map, the slope calculations come out differently, and the probability becomes too high. I think they fudged the numbers to squeeze in a few extra houses, and now they're trying to cover their tracks. Because the kicker is, the date that the inaccurate map was printed is just two days after the day they took out the terrorism insurance. Now, that might be a coincidence, but I think if you put all this together -- "

He stopped as he realized that he was hearing the dial tone, and had been hearing it while he spoke the last few words. "Don?" Damn, the voice mail must have cut him off. He turned back to the phone to redial the number --

and drew in a sharp breath. Standing behind him, one gloved finger on the telephone connection, was Jim Penneman. In his other hand was a gun, and it was pointed right at Charlie.

"Sorry to cut you off," Penneman started. "But I couldn't have you telling him what you've figured out."

Charlie clutched the phone receiver so tightly he was sure he must be leaving indentations in the plastic. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see what kind of progress you've been making with the data we gave you." He held his hand out, gesturing towards the phone, and Charlie helplessly handed it over. "Too much, it turns out." He hung up the phone and asked, "Have you told anyone else?"

Charlie swallowed as he understood what was at stake here. Don's words from a few days ago echoed in his head. He'd never wished more ferverently that he did have the ability to lie convincingly. "Yeah," he said, willing the other man to believe him. "I called the agent on duty first. They're sending someone over right away."

"Really. Because I've been standing outside your door for the last fifteen minutes, and the only thing I heard before that phone call is you talking to yourself." The gun raised a little higher, and the man's voice grew colder. "Have you told anyone else?"

No, he literally couldn't lie to save his own life. Somehow he didn't think Don would be too pleased at having been proven right. "No," he said quietly as a cold, heavy feeling lodged in the bottom of his stomach. "I just now figured it out."

"That's good," Penneman replied. "It makes you easier to deal with." Charlie swallowed again at the implications of that, but the blond man was nodding at the papers on his desk. "Erase the board and gather those up."

He slowly moved forward, noticing how the other man kept a distance of several feet between them, and that the gun never wavered. What was he think he was going to do, hit him with a piece of chalk or something? As he picked up the eraser, he turned to Penneman and said, "I'm right, aren't I? You faked the data to add a few more houses to the site. But you needed a backup plan in case it ever became a problem. So you took out the terrorism insurance knowing that you'd be covered if there was a slide and you could make it look like a deliberate act."

"It required a bit of advance preparation, yes. But we had no idea the second largest rainfall on record was going to happen the same winter we finished the development. Perhaps it made us a bit hasty in implementing our backup plan. We obviously left a few holes, so to speak. Your phone call to Mr. Storper made us aware of that."

"That's why you wanted me at the interview, to see if I knew anything."

The blond man nodded. "Sadly, he wasn't quick-witted enough to come up with a reason not to give you his data. Fortunately, I was able to check up on you this evening." He gestured with the gun towards the board. "Get rid of it."

Charlie slowly started clearing the board, stalling for time because it was the only thing he could do, the only small amount of control he had. And maybe the phone would ring, maybe Don would stop by to see how he was doing--

Who was he kidding? It was nearly midnight. He was on his own.

He put down the eraser and turned towards the other man. "What are you going to do with me?" He was proud that his voice only cracked a little as he asked the question.

"That's a good question. Though I'm sure you realize it's not the 'what' so much as the 'how.'" Penneman gestured towards the desk, and Charlie started stacking up the reports, his back to the other man. "Unfortunately, Mr. Storper may have been wrong in his assessment of the stability of the remaining slope. In fact, it might go again at any minute. It would be a shame if that happened when someone was out there trying to gather evidence to prove a colleague innocent."

Charlie put the last folder on top of the stack and closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage. "It's funny, you don't seem like a murderer."

He heard the man take a step towards him. "You don't understand what's at stake here, do you? If what's in those reports comes out, I'm finished. So is Storper. I've got ten million dollars of insurance riding on this, plus eighty million dollars worth of projects on the books, and you're trying to put me out of business."

Charlie whirled around, eyes blazing. "I'm trying to figure out who's responsible for three people being dead! All you're worried about is your damn projects!"

There was a loud click as Penneman released the safety on the gun, and Charlie froze. Okay, maybe shouting at a guy who was holding him at gunpoint was not the brightest thing he'd ever done. He took a slow step back, and the safety went back on. "Just get the papers," the blond man said. "And let's go."

He motioned towards the door, and Charlie reluctantly obeyed. They walked down the deserted hallway to the back stairwell, Charlie's scalp crawling all the way at the thought of the pistol pointed at his back. Down two flights of stairs, they exited at the loading dock behind the math building. There was a Cadillac parked there, the streetlights reflecting off its white exterior. He heard the jingle of keys behind him, and then the trunk opened with a quiet snick. "Put the papers in the trunk."

He dropped his burden into the trunk, then backed away at Penneman's order. He looked around the loading dock, thinking that if this were the movies, there would be a handy crowbar lying nearby, or a tank of frozen nitrogen that he could blast his captor with. 'No, if this were the movies, you wouldn't be the hero,' he told himself. 'You'd be the poor schmuck who figures things out too early in the plot and gets himself offed.'

His musings were interrupted by Penneman. "Here," the man said, holding out the car keys. "You're driving."

Charlie took a step back. "Uh, no, I can't."

The man's features hardened. "Take the keys and drive the car!"

"No, really, I can't. I, uh, I don't know how to drive."

Penneman took a step closer, looming over him. "What do you mean, you don't know how to drive?"

"J-just that. I never learned." His eyes flickered down to the gun and back to Penneman's cold blue gaze. "Please, I'm not making this up."

He held his breath until he could see the other man believed him. "I don't believe this. What kind of idiot lives in Los Angeles and doesn't know how to drive?" Not waiting for an answer, he commanded, "Turn around."

Charlie obeyed, the knot in his stomach growing a little tighter. After a few seconds, his arms were yanked behind his back, and then he felt the scratch of a rope biting into his wrists. Shit. This was not good. As low as his chances were of getting away, they were even lower with his hands tied behind him.

Then he felt the gun pressing into his back, and he froze. His breath started coming faster, and he barely heard his captor as he hissed in his ear, "You'll be riding in the trunk. Any false moves, and you'll regret it. Understand?"

If he were Don, he'd make some smart-assed remark about the futility of making any kind of move in the trunk, or at least point out that he was going to kill him anyway, so it wasn't like he had much to lose. But he was Charlie, and any bravado he might have felt had disappeared as soon as he felt the gun barrel at the small of his back. So he jerkily nodded. "Go on, then. Climb in."

He awkwardly obeyed, sitting down in the trunk and then swinging his legs in and ducking his head down. Penneman peered down at him, one hand on the lid of the trunk. "Don't worry, it won't be a long ride. Then you and your calculations will be safely gone."

Though he knew it was hopeless, he blurted, "You don't have to do this. Please."

Penneman shook his head. "Nice try, kid, but you really do know too much. I can't let that information get out." He started to close the lid.

"They'll find you," Charlie desperately called. "Wherever you go, Don will find you."

The blond man looked down at him dispassionately. "No, they won't. If they could have figured it out, you wouldn't have had to do all this work on your own, now would you?" And before Charlie could say another word, the trunk lid slammed down.


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer still in Part 1.

I really appreciate everyone who has taken the time to review, especially the people who got sucked into the story as it went along. :) Thank you!

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Chapter 8

Friday, March 25, 2005

In the CalSci administration building, the night watchman looked at the clock hanging over the bank of monitors in front of him. 11:50. Good. Johnson would be here in 10 minutes, and then it was home for the night. This was a long enough shift, even when your partner wasn't out with the flu, leaving you to keep your attention from flagging for eight hours all by yourself.

His light brown eyes swept over the eight television screens, each rotating between four different cameras, ten seconds each. He prided himself on actually paying attention to the monitors, unlike some of his colleagues. The 10-inch TV in the corner was always off on his watch. Well, except when the Lakers were on, but that was different. The game had ended a couple of hours ago, and so his attention was devoted to what the security cameras had to show.

A flicker of movement caught his eye from the lower left-hand camera, and it wasn't the usual flash as the camera changed from one view to the next. Two figures were on screen where they hadn't been forty seconds ago. He recognized the background as the loading dock behind the math building, and that caught his attention enough that he pressed the button to keep the view from rotating out. He'd seen his share of undergraduates seeking a little privacy, but the loading dock was a helluva choice for a midnight rendezvous. Besides, these weren't students.

He watched as one of the men deposited an armload of papers in the trunk of a car, then turned to face the other as if waiting for instructions. The watchman's eyes stayed on the first figure as he took a step back. Then he looked at the other guy, and his eyes widened. Was that a gun?

Bolting upright, he typed a few commands into the keyboard. The small camera perched over the stairwell exit swiveled half an inch, then zoomed in. Yes, that was a .22, unless he missed his guess. The man with the gun started to move, and the guard pulled the view back out. As he saw the first man being tied up, his hand moved to the phone. This was the kind of thing you called the police for. He knew how to deal with drunken students and the occasional homeless guy wandering onto campus. An armed kidnapping was not something he was comfortable taking on by himself.

While the call was connecting, he maneuvered the camera again so it focused on the rear of the car. As the victim was being forced into the trunk, he zoomed in on his face. "Holy shit," he muttered. It was that math guy who was always on campus so late. He'd seen him wandering around any number of times, had escorted him back to his office and joked that it was a good thing campus security was around to protect him from muggers hiding in the bushes. The guy had always laughed and thanked him very politely. Damn it, what was his name?

"Pasadena police dispatch," came the voice through the phone.

"Uh, yeah, this is Mark Mitchell, security at CalSci. I need to report a kidnapping."

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Don sat down at his desk with third cup of coffee of the night. The San Marento case had been taking up way too much of his time, putting him behind on other things and keeping him here well past quitting time. At least Terry was still around, too, wrapping up her work from San Diego. It was nice to have a little company after even the cleaning staff was gone for the night.

The flashing red light of his cell phone caught his eye. He snatched it up and pressed the voice mail button. When he heard Charlie's voice, he sighed in exasperation. Why couldn't he just leave this alone?

Then he started paying attention to the words, and his eyes grew wide. Reaching for a pen, he jotted down some notes, muttering under his breath, "Come on, Charlie, get to the point." After what seemed like minutes of detailed explanation, he heard, "Because the kicker is --" And then the line cut out.

Don pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. A 2 minute, 18 second call. No reason the voice mail should have cut off. A tendril of fear started to work its way up his spine. He speed-dialed Charlie's office, and was unsurprised, though no less worried, when there was no answer. "Damn it, what's going on?"

"What's up?" Terry had come up behind him, bearing her own cup of caffeine.

"It's Charlie. I think he figured something out, but his messsage got cut off, and I've got a bad feeling…" He trailed off as he searched the computer database for a phone number. Finding it, he rapidly dialed. "Hello? CalSci security?"

"Yes, this is the security desk. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, this is Special Agent Don Eppes with the FBI in Los Angeles. This might sound a little strange, but I'm calling about my brother, Professor Charles Eppes in the math department -- "

"Oh, yeah. Wow, they got a hold of you fast."

Don frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I just got off the phone with the police. They must have contacted you right away."

The tendril wrapped itself tighter. "What are you talking about? What happened?" Behind him, Terry put a hand on his shoulder, but he barely noticed.

There was an exhalation on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, sir, I thought you knew. Look, Professor Eppes has been kidnapped. I saw it happen on the security camera, and called the cops right away. We got the plate, and they're tracking him down now."

"I'm sorry, did you say 'kidnapped'?" Terry's hand convulsively tightened, and he winced.

"Someone forced him into the trunk of a car behind the math building. I have pretty good footage of the scene, if you want me to send it to you."

"Of course!" Don read off his e-mail address, then paused before putting forth the question that he had to ask. "When you say 'forced,' what do you mean?"

"You'll see on the tape. I don't think he was injured, but he was being held at gunpoint. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything more, but I don't have any backup here tonight."

Don briefly closed his eyes, trying to block out the image the security guard's words had brought to mind. "All right, it looks like the e-mail is coming through…" He paused while the video downloaded, tapping his fingers impatiently. Terry had pulled over a chair and was waiting to take any necessary notes.

The video started playing, and his fist clenched as he saw Charlie being tied up. The camera moved to the other man's face, and Don's head jerked back. "Son of a bitch!"

"You know who the guy is?" came the guard's voice.

"Yeah, we do. Listen, thanks for your help. You did a great job keeping watch, and getting the information in. I really appreciate it." Don distractedly replied to the "Good luck!" that the watchman signed off with, and hung up before realizing he didn't even know the guy's name.

"Charlie must have figured it out. That's what he was trying to tell me on the phone, before he got cut off. It must have been Penneman who -- " Don pounded a fist against his thigh, trying not to think about what had happened only a few minutes ago, miles across town. "Damn it, why didn't I have my phone with me? Why didn't I believe him?"

Terry laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm going to contact the Pasadena police and see where they are in finding the car. Then we're going to get out there and find him, okay?"

He nodded grimly. "And if he's hurt, I'm going to kill Penneman with my bare hands."

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The car turned a corner, and Charlie winced as he rolled against the back of the trunk. It was at least a twenty-minute drive to San Marento, about ten minutes of which had already taken place. And most of the trip was on the freeway. Even if there was some way to open the trunk, he couldn't exactly hop out at 65 miles per hour. And once they got there…

He closed his eyes and fought back a wave of panic. He was not going to freak out. He was going to figure out a way to get out of this trunk, despite the fact that his hands were tied behind him, and he was trapped here by a man who was planning to kill him, and no one knew where he was or even that anything was wrong. Right, there was no reason to panic.

The car accelerated. He figured that meant they were on the 210, heading northwest. He tried again to see anything in the pitch darkness, but to no avail. The car must have been old enough that it wasn't equipped with a fluorescent emergency release handle. So much for that idea.

The spiral wire on one of his notebooks was digging into his shoulder, and he thought his arm was starting to go numb from having his weight on it. Maybe he could at least do something about that. He started wriggling around, trying to fold up his legs so that he could bring his bound hands around in front of him. For the first time in a long time, Charlie was grateful for his small stature, as he narrowly avoided whacking his elbows and knees into the sides and lid of the trunk. After a few minutes of grunting and cursing, he succeeded. "For all the good that does me," he muttered, staring up at the trunk lid he couldn't see.

His struggles had taken more time than he thought. He felt the car decelerate, and he knew he was running out of time. He started groping around in the trunk for anything he could possibly use as a weapon, but the only objects in there were his notebooks and papers. Frantically, he started working at the knots in the rope, but after two broken fingernails, he realized that was futile as well.

The car slowed further, and he could feel that they were going up a steep slope and rounding some tight corners. They must nearly be there. Sure enough, in a few more minutes, the car came to a stop, and Charlie tensed his muscles. He had no illusions about the likelihood of overpowering his captor, especially when the man was armed, but he wasn't about to go down without a fight.


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer and beta thanks in Part 1.

Keep those seat belts fastened…and keep the reviews coming!

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Chapter 9  
Friday, March 25, 2005 

"Could you go a little faster?"

Terry gave him an exasperated look. "I'm already doing 75 --" she broke off to negotiate a tight turn -- "on a road that was designed for --" they banked the other way -- "55. We'll get there, okay?"

Don didn't reply, but turned towards the window. Damn it, how had this happened? How had he let his brother down like this? Why had it not occurred to him that at some point, on one of these cases, Charlie was going to be in danger? "Why didn't I protect him?"

"He's a grown man, Don. He knew it might be dangerous to get involved in FBI work."

"And how was he supposed to know that? I never told him. I never said, 'Hey, buddy, could you help me out with this case, and by the way, your life might be in danger, but sorry, you're on your own there.' God, it wasn't even a real case, just him sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong, thinking he knows all the answers. Getting himself -- " He couldn't say the words.

"Don, don't do this to yourself. He's going to be fine."

"Yeah, maybe." Don shook his head. "I'm not letting him work with us any more. It's too dangerous."

"Don't you think that's Charlie's decision to make?"

"No, I don't. I think I'm the one who knows the risks, and I'm the one who calls in the consultants, and I'm the one who needs to make the decision."

His cell phone rang, and he frantically flipped it open. "Charlie?"

"Is this Special Agent Eppes?"

Not Charlie. A woman's voice. "Yes, it is."

"This is the Pasadena police dispatcher. We have a report of the suspect's car headed north on the 210, past Lincoln Avenue. White Cadillac, license plate 5DTY184."

He exchanged a glance with Terry. "That's the route to San Marento."

"You think that's where he's headed? Why would he take Charlie there?"

"It's a good place to bury the evidence." The flip comment came out automatically, but his stomach twisted when he remembered what, or who, the evidence was. He briefly closed his eyes and addressed the dispatcher, still waiting on the other end of the phone. "We know where he's headed, and we're only ten minutes away. We'll meet you there."

"Roger that. Ten-four."

He flipped the phone shut. "Could you go a little faster?"

This time, she didn't argue.

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In the end, it hadn't mattered. Penneman had opened the trunk with his remote control, standing a safe distance away with the gun aimed at his captive. Charlie clambered out of the trunk, and the developer removed the rope from his wrists and had him carry the rope and a box that had been in the car, along with the piles of papers that had been scattered underneath him in the trunk.

He was marched inside one of the undamaged houses, at the base of the mountain and on the western edge of where the slide had stopped. He realized with a bitter twinge of irony that it was one of the three houses that wasn't supposed to be there, according to his calculations. The interior wasn't quite complete; a few of the walls were still bare studs, although he could see around the corner that the kitchen appliances had been installed.

Penneman directed Charlie to place the papers and the box on the floor. Then he took the rope and tied him up again, this time to one of the studs in the unfinished wall. Charlie watched as he opened the box and began to fiddle with the contents. "What is that?" he asked, hating how his voice shook.

"A little safety device. For me, that is." He took a small digital timer out of the box and attached it to the wall studs across the room, twisting a wire around the wood to hold it in place. After attaching two long pieces of metal and a small clip, he pressed a button on top. 20:00 flashed on the small LED screen, and started counting down.

"One thing about landslides, Dr. Eppes. The ground continues to settle for many days afterwards." Penneman rose to his feet and crossed the room into the kitchen. He reached behind the stove and deliberately yanked the gas pipe away from the appliance. A soft hissing noise began. "That's why the utilities are supposed to be turned off after such incidents, to prevent something unfortunate from happening."

Charlie tugged at the ropes around his wrists, but they were as tight as they had been in the car. He watched Penneman as he checked on his timing device again, then turned to face him. "It's amazing how much gas can leak into a room in as short a period as twenty minutes. And how the slightest spark will set it off. Whatever's left of you after the explosion should be buried when the blast sets off the landslide."

Charlie knew he was begging, but it was all he had left. "Please, don't do this. Don't kill me."

Penneman shook his head. "Too late, son." He raised the gun as if to fire it, and Charlie flinched.

The blond man gave a sardonic chuckle. "You think I'm going to use this? That could be dangerous if there was a gas leak." He tucked the gun into his waistband. "At least you won't have to wait for long," he said, nodding at the timer, now down to 17:55. Then he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

Charlie closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wooden pillar. He tugged at the knots again, but the rope refused to give. He even leaned forward with all of his weight in case he could somehow loosen the stud. But the wood held.

The red light of the timer caught his eye in the dark, empty house, and he felt a trickle of sweat work its way down his back. Less than fifteen minutes now. He struggled more frantically against the rope, then paused as he realized the smell of the gas had grown stronger. He didn't know how much of a spark it would take to set it off, if his feet scuffling on the bare wooden floor or the friction of the rope against the wood would be enough. He tried to calculate the probability, but for once, the numbers wouldn't come. All he could see were the numbers growing smaller and smaller on the digital clock across the room, counting down the minutes he had left.

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Terry off turned the siren as they exited the freeway and wound their way up the streets of San Marento. The floral scents from backyard gardens gave way to the aroma of chaparral as the houses grew fewer and fewer in number. The roadway grew narrower the higher they went, until there was barely enough room for two cars to pass each other. As Terry rounded the corner past the "Crescenta Court" sign, she gunned the motor to climb the final hill.

Suddenly their headlights caught a flash of white. "Look out!" Don shouted.

She slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel sharply to the right. The rear of their car whipped around and towards the hood of the Cadillac that was barreling down the hill towards them, its lights out. The screech of brakes broke the stillness of the night, and the other vehicle came to a halt on the verge of smashing into their trunk.

Don was out of the car in an instant, weapon drawn. "Out of the car!" he shouted. "Now!"

The door of the Cadillac opened, and the tall blond man stepped out, hands carefully in the air. "Is there something wrong?"

"You know there is." Don took three long strides forward and grabbed the front of the man's shirt, slamming him against his car. "Where's Charlie?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Agent Eppes, wasn't it?"

He put his gun to the man's throat. "Where is he?"

"Don," came Terry's warning voice behind him.

"I think his time's almost up." There was a hint of taunting in the tall man's voice.

"What do you mean?"

"Only that if someone were wandering around who wasn't experienced at construction sites, they might miss certain warning signs. Like when a gas main has broken, for example."

"Son of a -- " Don let go with a shove. "How much time?" When Penneman didn't answer, he cocked his weapon. "How much time?"

Don was maliciously pleased to see fear in the other man's eyes. "About fifteen minutes, I should think."

"Don, I have him. Go!"

Without a backwards look, he raced up the hill, praying that Penneman had the numbers wrong.


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer and beta thanks in part 1.

Hey, it's another short, action-filled chapter that ends in a cliffhanger! (Before you scream too loudly, it's the last one like that, I promise; we're almost at the end.)

Thanks again for your reviews!

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Chapter 10  
Friday, March 25, 2005 

Don pounded up a switchback, straining his eyes to see the mud-covered road in front of him. The ground leveled off, and he sprinted on as the first of the red-tiled houses came into view.

In the moonlight, he could see fresh tire tracks in front of one of the nearly-finished houses, nestled against the steep hillside. He ran up to the front door, trying to catch his breath. "Charlie?" he yelled.

Faintly through the door, he heard, "Don? Don, be careful!"

"It's all right, I'm going to get you out of there." He slowly opened the front door, then nearly choked on the smell that greeted him. "Charlie, where are you?"

"In here," he heard off to his right. "He tied me up to the wall studs, and I can't get loose. Don, there's gas everywhere, and there's a timer set to go off in five minutes." The fear in his brother's voice was as thick as the scent of gas.

"All right. I'm going to take my shoes off so I don't set off a spark." He did so, laying his gun and car keys down on top of them. No sense in carrying around metal that could brush against something. "I'm coming in, Charlie. Stay calm, okay?"

"Okay," came the quiet response.

Don entered the dark house, not daring to feel his way in case he released static electricity by touching the wall. Across the main room he saw a dark shape huddled close the floor, against the wall. "Charlie."

He carefully made his way along the wood floor, stopping first at the timer on the wall. It wasn't an explosive device, but when the clock ran down, the two pieces of metal would come into contact and create a spark. Based on what his nose was telling him, that would probably be enough to send this house sky-high. After a few seconds, he realized he wasn't going to be able to disable it, and he was afraid to try and untangle the metal wires to remove it. Okay, that meant he had 3 minutes and 45 seconds to work with. He could do that.

"Don?" The quaver had deepened a little.

"I can't do anything about the timer, Charlie. But I can untie you and get us out of here, okay?" He saw his brother's head nod, and he made his way across the room to him. "You okay?"

"I will be once we're out of here." The moonlight coming in the front window was enough to illuminate Charlie's face, and the look of trust there amazed him. After all the crap they'd given each other this week, he still had absolute faith in him. He just hoped it was justified.

"All right, buddy. Hang on."

Don untied the ropes by feel, working as quickly as he dared. As the ropes came free, he cautioned Charlie against moving too quickly. Charlie obeyed, bringing his hands up and flexing his wrists, but not moving away from the wall.

Don cast a nervous glance at the timer. 2:30. "All right, let's go," he said calmly.

The brothers made their way across the room, stepping slowly and deliberately. Don was fighting the urge to run like hell as he watched the timer count down, and he could tell Charlie was doing the same. By the time they got to the foyer and the clock was out of sight, it had ticked down to 1:45. Don knew that wasn't enough time to get back down to the car, and he realized that might not be the safest place, anyway. "He's planning on bringing down the rest of the hillside, isn't he?"

Charlie nodded, offering him his shoulder for support as he shoved his feet back into his shoes. "I don't know where to go, Don. If we run for higher ground, the higher ground might start sliding when the house goes. If run down the street, we're putting ourselves below the existing slide, which might get set off again. If we -- "

He cut him off with a hand on his arm. "Calm down. You've gone over those geotechnical reports with a fine-tooth comb. There must be something that can help us. But we need to get out of here, now."

He nodded absently, staring out over the half-finished houses. Don grabbed his arm to start pulling him along, but he resisted. "Charlie! Come on, move it, would you? We've got less than a minute."

"I'm trying to picture…" his voice trailed off, and then he pointed. "There. The house below this one and over one. It's built on bedrock. The buyer was paranoid about mudslides and wanted extra-deep pilings. It'll withstand the hill collapsing."

Don looked him in the eye. "You're sure?"

Charlie gave a helpless shrug. "We don't have much choice, do we?"

"Come on, let's go!" And they took off down the hillside, slipping a little on the moist ground, trying to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the house before the timer went off.

Don was counting down the seconds in his head, adding in a few just to be safe. By the time they reached the back door to the house, he figured they had less than thirty seconds left. He tugged on the doorknob, but it was locked. Damn it!

There was a set of glass French doors next to the back door, overlooking the level backyard and the hillside rising behind. Don eyed the doors, a plan forming. "Once the explosion happens, how much time do we have before the landslide?"

Charlie's gaze shifted over Don's shoulder as he calculated. "Depending on how unstable the slope is…between thirty and ninety seconds."

"Good. Now come on." He yanked on Charlie's arm and pulled him around to the front of the house. The front door was locked, too, but that didn't matter. All they had to do was wait a few seconds…

BOOM!

The explosion ripped into the night, sending shards of wood and glass flying. From their protected spot on the lee side of the house, they could see material rocketing into the air. The crash of glass from behind them told Don that their entry into the house was now clear. Sure enough, as the dust settled and they picked their way to the back of the building, they saw the French doors had splintered under the force of the debris that had come crashing into them.

Don felt Charlie pause behind him. He turned to see his brother staring up the hill at the smoldering ruin that stood where they had been just minutes before. The flickering flames reflected off Charlie's pale face.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Charlie shook his head as if to clear it. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Then come on. We're not out of the woods yet."

As Don spoke those words, he felt a low rumbling coming from the ground. Looking uphill, he could just make out by the light of the moon the hillside above the house where Charlie had been imprisoned.

_And the entire hillside was moving._


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer in Part 1. A big thank you again to all of my betas: Winter, Vikki, Lee Ann, and Mary.

Thanks for staying with me through the cliffhangers (like you had a choice ;) ). There's just the epilogue after this!

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Chapter 11

Friday, March 25, 2005

Don froze in momentary panic at the sight of the landslide headed at them. Then his training and experience in crisis situations took over, and he whirled and shoved Charlie through the open space where the glass doors had stood. "Find the stairs!"

They darted through the unfinished house, through a dining area now covered with shards of glass, down a short hallway to the main living room at the front of the house, and then across to the main stairway leading up from the front door. As they started to race up the steps, the roar from outside intensified. Charlie was halfway up the staircase, Don right behind, when the house gave a shudder. Don grabbed for a railing that wasn't there and almost plunged off the stairs, catching himself just in time.

Charlie had reached the top of the stairs, but stopped dead in his tracks. When Don reached him, he realized why. There was a large window at the top of the stairs, meant to give a view of the backyard. It took him a second to realize that the backyard was completely buried. They were looking out at a wall of mud that had risen past the height of the first story of the house, and was still rising.

Charlie turned towards him, frightened. "Don, I thought the house would hold, but I didn't take into account that it might get buried!"

"It's okay, we'll think of something." The house shuddered again, and Don grabbed onto the corner of the wall to steady himself. "Come on, let's see what's up here."

They jogged down the hall to their left, heading towards what looked like the master suite. Suddenly there was a loud crash from behind them. Don whirled to see a boulder the size of an armchair come rolling through the window they had just been looking at and head down the front stairs. The mud started pouring in behind, oozing its way down the hall.

"Come on!" They dashed into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. There were no windows facing uphill here, which kept them safe for the time being. Then Don spied the balcony, overlooking the downhill-facing front of the house. "Come on, Charlie."

They made their way out onto the balcony. It was wider than the doorway, with just enough room for a person to stand between the edge of the door and the open ironwork railing. Don looked down at the moving ground that was sliding around the house on both sides. So far, the paranoid owner's money had been well spent. The first floor was entirely buried, but the house was holding. "Now, you're going to have to hold on, okay?"

Charlie nodded. "I hope this works."

"If not, we'll ride the hill all the way down to the bottom, okay?" At his brother's weak smile, Don nodded. "Just hold on."

They didn't have long to wait. The bedroom doors were forced open by the steady pressure of mud and rocks still coming down the hill. When the mass of material swarmed through the bedroom, seeking a way out, it found the open balcony doors. Mud started to roar past the two men holding onto the railing for dear life.

At first it looked like it was going to work. Then Don realized that he hadn't accounted for the rocks in the debris flow. They became trapped by the grillwork of the railing, acting as awall to hold back the rest of the flow. The mud started rising up their legs. He caught Charlie's eyes across the rapidly filling balcony and gave him a reassuring nod.

As the mud reached his waist, it filled the balcony and started rolling right on by. He saw Charlie give a sigh of relief, but then his eyes widened. Turning his head, Don was horrified to see that the mud was rising up the outside of the house. In a matter of seconds, the flow coming past them and off the balcony was at ground level, since the ground had risen halfway up the second story.

He caught Charlie's eyes, helpless. They were buried up to their waists, with no way to move, and once the mud started coming over the roof, they were doomed. It was no consolation to look down the street and see an entire house sliding downhill with the mud and rocks. If they were buried here in place, it wouldn't matter that the house was anchored in bedrock.

Don kept his eyes locked on his brother's, not willing to look away. God, Penneman would be so pleased to know he had won. The bastard. He thought about Terry, waiting downslope, and hoped she had managed to make it out of the way. Maybe she would have had to leave the developer to his own devices as she scrambled to safety. It would be at least a small consolation if he knew the landslide that killed him and Charlie would take care of the man behind it as well.

Then, just as the mud reached halfway up his chest, and he felt the balcony shudder beneath them, the flow of debris started to slow down. A few seconds later, it stopped.

The brothers stared at each other across the pile of mud and rocks that lay between them. It was suddenly quiet, with only the occasional clatter of a rock here and there. "Charlie, you all right?" Being lower to the ground to start with, Charlie was buried nearly up to his armpits. "Can you breathe?"

"Yeah. My ankle's twisted, though." His brother's face was just visible above the pile of debris, and it was shadowed with pain. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." A large rock had come to rest against his side, and he winced as it dug into his ribs. "Do you think that's it?"

"I don't know." Charlie turned his head to look upslope, but the roof of the house blocked his view. "Can you move?"

Don wriggled around a bit. "Yeah, a little. How about you?"

"Not without help."

"All right, hang on."

It took a few minutes, but Don managed to free one arm, then the other. He realized he wasn't going to be able to do any better than that, though. The material around him was too thick to move through, but too thin to push against. Every time he tried to dislodge some of it, more slid down to take its place.

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by a ringing sound.

Don looked down in astonishment. His cell phone was still in the breast pocket of his jacket, and apparently, it still worked. He fished it out and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Don? Thank God. Are you okay? Did you find Charlie?"

He echoed her relief. "Yes, Terry, we're fine." He exchanged a glance with his brother. "We might need a little help getting out of here, though." When Charlie rolled his eyes at the understatement, he gave him a quick grin. "Just hang on. We're going to be fine."


	13. Epilogue

Oh no, it's the end! Just a tidy epilogue to finish things off. Thanks again for all of your reviews and encouragement. The story will be archived in its entirety at the CalSci Library when it comes online this weekend.

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Epilogue

Wednesday, March 31, 2005

Don folded his arms and leaned back against the cinder-block hallway, watching through the glass pane in the classroom door. Charlie had foregone the chalkboard for the overhead projector, since his crutches made it impossible for him to move and write at the same time. Fortunately, it was only a sprained ankle, but a bad enough one that the doctor thought crutches were a good idea for the next week or two.

He shifted his weight and winced at the slight twinge of pain in his ribs. That, too, was a minor injury, from that last boulder falling against his side as they were trapped on the balcony. All in all, they'd been quite lucky. Not as unscathed as Terry and Penneman, who'd driven down the hill before the slide started. But then, he supposed the 25 years to life that Penneman and Storper were looking at could hardly be considered as being unscathed.

There was a flurry of movement in the classroom: notebooks being closed and backpacks picked up. Don checked his watch. It was only 2:52, but it looked like they'd had enough calculus for the day.

After the students had streamed out, he entered the room. Charlie was balancing on one foot while he organized the slides he'd been writing on. "Should I report you for letting your class out early?" Don teased, adjusting the folder he held under his arm.

"Nah, they're amazed I'm here at all. I mean, that I'm trying to teach with crutches and everything. It's difficult to have to write in such a small space instead of having the entire chalkboard, but I can have a lot more eye contact with the students, and I don't have to talk over my shoulder."

"I'm glad it's not cramping your teaching style."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "No, that was what the reporters were doing."

"Reporters?" He played dumb, wanting to know what his brother would have to say.

"Yeah, just a few of them wanting to hear some details about the whole landslide thing. No big deal." He finished stacking the transparencies and turned to face him.

Yep, he was completely unable to toot his own horn. "No big deal? The L.A. Times, the New York Times, Newsweek? From what I hear, you're quite the hero on campus."

"If you're hearing that from Larry, I think it's exaggerated."

"No, I don't think it is at all. You risked your life to prove a man innocent. That was an incredibly brave thing to do."

Charlie shrugged and toyed with the cap on the overhead marker. "I didn't know I was risking my life at the time."

He sighed. "Yeah. Look, Charlie, I -- I came by to tell you I think it's best if you lay off the consulting for a while. I've been thinking about it, and I think there are better uses of your time. You've got classes to teach, your own research to do -- "

"Don, it's my ankle that's injured, not my brain."

"It's just that you're not a trained agent. You're not equipped to handle situations like last week. If it wasn't for that security guard seeing you on the camera . . . " His voice trailed off. The nightmare where Charlie's head disappeared from view under a pile of mud and rocks had already left Don bolting upright in bed twice in the last week, alternating with the one where he arrived at Crescenta Court just in time to watch his brother being blown to bits.

"So I'm supposed to stop being useful? Just so you don't have to worry about me? Don, I'm far more likely to get doored while riding my bike home that I am getting hurt on one of your cases. Besides, I would have probably done this anyway for Larry, and then I wouldn't have had any FBI connections at all. So you see, I'm actually safer if I'm working with you."

"How many times has someone opened their car door into you, anyway?"

"Twice. But I've only been kidnapped once."

Don shot him his best "be serious" glare. "Charlie, how are you? For real?" His brother had refused to talk to a psychiatrist, even Terry, all week. Don didn't know for sure what it was like to suddenly be thrust into the violent world that he himself encountered on a fairly regular basis, but he was sure it wasn't good for the psyche.

"I'm fine, Don. I'll heal." He gestured towards his ankle, although something in his voice indicated a deeper meaning to his words. "But it helps to be doing something, you know? That's why I want to keep working with you."

"You've never had trouble coming up with things to do in the past. There's lots of theorems still to be proved."

Charlie shrugged one shoulder and reached over to pick up the crutches leaning against the chalkboard. "I like it. I like the immediate result, knowing that I've finished something that can be of instant use and doesn't have to go through the peer review process first. Not that I'm turning away from abstract mathematics, just that it's helpful to do some applications once in a while. I think I might have even gotten Larry interested."

"Great, that's all we need, two of you around the office." Don kept his tone light. Then the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at his brother. "I am proud of you, you know. You stood your ground and fought for what you knew was right, even when I was being a pain in the ass."

"Don, if I stopped doing things just because you were being a pain in the ass, I wouldn't have gotten to where I am today." He blocked Don's mock punch surprisingly quickly with a crutch. "Can you help me carry my notes back to my office?"

"Yeah, sure." He picked up the pile and strode back to hold the door open. "Actually, if you're serious about getting back in the saddle, there is a little something I could use your help with."

"Yeah?" Charlie swung out into the hallway, the creaking of the crutches keeping pace with him. "What about?"

"It's another fraud case. We tried that algorithm you gave us last time, but it's not coming up with anything."

"The parameters might need to be tweaked. Do you have the data?"

"It's right here." He indicated the folder he'd been carrying around.

Charlie didn't say anything, just grinned.

Don acknowledged his brother's smile with a quirk of his own lips. Yeah, he didn't seriously think he would have been able to talk Charlie out of his consulting work. Come to think of it, he didn't really want to. "You know, there's a lot of pressure to get this done as quickly as possible."

"Yeah? It's a big case?" Charlie was digging into his pocket for the key to his office.

"No, uh, David started a little office pool about how long it would take you to crack it. I'll split my winnings with you if you make me rich."

Charlie gave him a reproachful look, then opened the door and hobbled inside. "What did you give me? Three days? Four?"

"Twelve hours." When Charlie stared at him, incredulous, he went on, "Hey, Terry picked fifteen, and I had to have the lowest time. Family pride and all that. So come on, get cracking."


End file.
